


over the edge

by limerental



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cunnilingus, Edging, F/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Self-Indulgent, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Sex, that's dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23303122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limerental/pseuds/limerental
Summary: Returning from an errand, Yennefer catches Jaskier fucking the innkeeper's wife in her bed. Of course, the only logical thing to do is to join them. It isherbed, after all.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vegerburgu | Yennefer of Vengerberg/Original Female Character, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 21
Kudos: 337





	over the edge

**Author's Note:**

> this is highly, highly self-indulgent pwp in these trying times

“What the living _fuck_ do you think you are doing?” said Yennefer, voice dropping to a dangerous growl, as she hauled back the curtains of _her_ bed to the sight of the Witcher’s bard sprawled there tumbling amidst _her_ tangled sheets with a buxom woman straddling his thighs.

Well, not hers per say, as she would never have chosen such tastelessly floral bed hangings, but she and Geralt had most decidedly been occupying this room in the inn while the bard took the one across the hall.

Except that she and Geralt had gone off on separate, pressing errands, Geralt off to slay a harpy in the foothills and Yennefer to meet with a client. Leaving the bard to mind their belongings, no need to waste time and resources lugging it all about in different directions only to reconvene, but apparently the little bastard could be trusted to mind nothing except what hung between his legs.

And at this rate, he’d be lucky to have much left to mind when she was through with him.

“Um,” squeaked Jaskier, sharply tugging the lady’s skirts down her thighs to cover them both. “Y-yennefer! You weren’t supposed to be back until the morrow.”

“You were supposed to be staying out of sight, not--” Yennefer regarded the woman sitting astride the bard and recognized her as the innkeeper’s wife. She was dark-skinned with close-shorn hair, one breast peeking loose where the sleeve of her butter-yellow dress fell down her arm, and she looked sheepish but not as flustered as expected. Myrtle her name was. Or perhaps Maude? Yennefer didn’t quite care.

She made no move to rise from the bard’s lap at least, and Yennefer had seen enough before Jaskier covered them to know she was still seated to the hilt on his erection. Hopefully flagging and shrivelled up to nothing by now if Jaskier knew what was good for him. But still.

The thought of the woman’s clinging thighs trapping his softening cock in the heat between her legs sparked something very alarming in Yennefer’s brain that she really didn’t have time to examine right now. Or ever.

“I am out of sight!” Jaskier protested.

“Keeping your cock hidden in some loose woman’s cunt does not count as staying out of sight,” Yennefer said. Looked to the woman. “No offense.”

“None taken,” the innkeeper’s wife said breathily. “It’s my fault. I fear the bard is just far too tempting to resist.”

Yennefer snorted.

“Him? This one? You mean this fellow in bed right here?” she drawled, standing close to the bedside. To her bedside. This was her fucking bed.

“Do you see any other?” said the innkeeper’s wife, and it took Yennefer a blink to realize she was being _cheeky_. And that her dark eyes had slid half-shut, her painted lips parting on an exhale as she looked at Yennefer. And that her hips continued to move in steady rolls, so subtle as to nearly be missed except for the way that Jaskier’s knuckles went white clutching at the spill of her skirts.

Lying helpless on his back, Jaskier twitched in what Yennefer hoped was terror under the weight of the glare she directed his way, but she had the sinking feeling was something else entirely.

Yennefer opened her mouth to protest this ridiculous show of perversion and lascivious affront to her sanity, but just then the innkeeper’s wife ( _Mabel? Meredith?_ ) shifted in such a way that the bard’s head tipped back against the pillows in a groan, his Adam’s apple dipping in the pale line of his bared throat. A flush on his high cheekbones, his disheveled fringe swept half across his closed eyes, and she couldn’t help but think he looked--

What was the word Millicent had used?

 _Tempting_.

And this was _her_ bed, after all. No one could pass judgment on her for slipping into it.

Slip into it she did and out of her dress in the same fluid movement.

“What--” said Jaskier, his voice breaking with a squawk as she knelt naked above him, the widening of his eyes and fearful tremble of his chin showing he clearly remembered the last time she had done so. “Yennefer, _what are you doing?_ ”

“It’s my bed,” she said with a shrug, her dark hair tumbling down her bare shoulders. Which sounded far less logical when spoken out loud, but she certainly couldn’t say _I have been struck with the sudden and inexplicable urge to see you squirm like that some more._

And squirm Jaskier did, mostly induced by Minerva’s thighs pressing up to move into a more pronounced rhythm, but perhaps also by Yennefer’s fingers curling under his chin. She tipped his jaw to the side and back with the same scrutiny one would give to livestock at the market, observing the flush that crept up his chest, the sweat-damp curls of hair there sweeping up to the pale skin of his neck.

“Hmmm,” she hummed and with only a hovering moment of hesitant, dragged inquisitive fingers through his chest hair, catching at the dip of his collar bones and then the hollow of his throat.

“See?” said the innkeeper’s wife ( _Mary, was it? Madeleine?_ ), her breath coming shorter as she rose and fell in his lap. “Ain’t he pretty?”

Yennefer caught the bard’s chin again, struck by how he seemed to have accepted his situation, allowing himself to be touched and observed. Perhaps frozen in fear like a rabbit nestled in stillness in the grass waiting for a predator to pass overhead. But the glaze of his eyes and soft pants of his breath through his lips did not imply terror.

Surrendering herself wholly to thinking about the consequences of the current happenings at a much later date, Yennefer pressed two slender fingers into Jaskier’s parted mouth. The dark lacquer of her fingernails disappeared under the tentative sweep of his tongue, and then he closed his lips around them and _oh_. His cheeks hollowed, lashes fluttering, and Yennefer’s thumb curled reflexively into the divot under his chin.

“I’ve seen worse,” she said.

“Whatever you say, m’lady,” said the innkeeper’s wife, and though Yennefer was certainly no lady, the honorific charmed her all the same.

As Margaret started up some complicated wiggle to pair with the piston of her hips, the bard lapped at her fingers, mouth opened to pant around them, and Yennefer realized this would be over far too soon for her liking at the pace the woman set.

“Slow down,” she insisted. “I’d like him not to finish quite yet.”

“Don’t worry,” said the woman but slowed her movement to languid drags that must draw him nearly all the way out of her, shifting forward to brace her hands against his chest. “I don’t aim to let ‘im spend inside. Can’t be havin' no bastards.”

“That’s a concern I don’t share,” said Yennefer, only realizing how that sounded when the bard all but choked around her fingers. She smirked, removing her fingers with a wet sheen of saliva hanging from them, was pleased to see the way Jaskier’s parted mouth tried to follow them for a breath. She wiped her hand on the pleats of the woman’s yellow skirts and thought how it was surely unfortunate how much the fabric covered. “Lift your dress,” she said, and the innkeeper’s wife leaned back at once to do so, bunching the fabric at her hips.

The dark hair along the man’s chest dusted his torso in a similar fashion, thicker around the soft give of his navel and thicker still where the movement of the woman above him allowed quick glimpses of the ruddy base of his cock.

The bard was not as lithe and slight as he looked in his gaudy costumes, which she assumed must be the intention. Perhaps once he had been as trim and svelt as the high line of his pants and cut of his doublet implied, but no longer. He was delightfully soft around the edges in ways the Witcher was not and never would be, plush through his chest, an outward round to his belly.

And yet, he was unexpectedly _firm_ as well. Broader through the shoulders than Yennefer remembered. The muscles flexing in his arms as he curled his hands down into the sheets. Thighs tightening to rise off the bed and press up into the woman above him, and she watched his brow wrinkle in a show of helpless pleasure and thought _let’s make this more interesting, then_.

She tugged on the arm of the innkeeper’s wife.

“Off,” she ordered, and the woman obeyed, lifting up and free of him to settle back along his upper thighs. Leaving the bard’s cock on full display, resting against the soft round of his stomach. No doubts remained about the intensity of his interest in the current situation.

He appeared painfully hard, taut skin flushed almost purple, and a gentle brush of Yennefer’s knuckles along the line of him confirmed that hardness, the head smearing wetness into the dark hair on his belly. It was a perfectly ordinary cock, average-sized for a man of his stature, so she couldn’t say exactly why the sight of it filled her with the desire to lap him root to tip. To see how much dribbling wetness she could inspire from him without taking him fully over the edge.

Simply for the delight of watching him squirm, she decided. She was suddenly possessed by the vivid sense memory of holding his soft cock in her tightening hand in the house in Rinde, how he had yelped and scrambled, and that hadn’t been sensual at all then, not for either of them, but now?

She pressed her thumb lightly against the velvet skin beneath the glans and rubbed a teasing circle. Jaskier yelped, in an entirely different tone than he had all those years ago, and his cock twitched hard, a fresh pulse of fluid jumping across his stomach.

Oh yes. Yennefer was delighted to see him squirm.

“What now?” the innkeeper’s wife asked.

“Maggie,” Jaskier groaned, and ah yes, that was her name. He licked his lips, and she and Maggie both watched the flick of his tongue wet his mouth. “This uh-- this seat’s free.” With a sweeping gesture at his face to make the implication clear.

And then, inexplicably, the both of them turned to look at Yennefer for direction.

“You heard him,” she said. “Get to it.”

Maggie paused only to tear her dress over her head, revealing a pleasingly soft body herself, with full breasts and a soft mound of belly, skin a dark contrast to Jaskier’s pale shoulders as she settled with her knees on either side of his head, her ample bottom to Yennefer.

She dropped down slowly, muffling Jaskier’s groan as she seated herself comfortably on his face. Yennefer could see nothing but the shift of the bard’s jaw, but by the keening sounds that began to fall from Maggie’s lips, it was clear he was doing something utterly revolutionary with his tongue.

The odd disappointment that she could no longer see Jaskier’s facial expressions was softened by the thrill that he also could not see her as she shifted to straddle his thighs.

She offered only light touches at first, the flutter of one hand along the line of his erection, the other dropping to slip over his balls and hold them. The power in that simple touch was immense, the warm hand cupping where he was most vulnerable, but he did not flinch away, a tremble in his thighs the only sign that he noticed the touch at all.

She hummed in the back of her throat. That would have to change, wouldn’t it?

She wanted him to notice her.

With a whispered spell she reserved for such moments, her hand went slick, tightened around his hard length, and stroked up in a few sharp pulls.

The muscles leapt in Jaskier’s thighs as he thrust up into her hand, and his fingers were suddenly scrabbling against the sheets. Yennefer reached to catch one of those searching hands in hers, pulled it to rest on top of her own along his cock.

“Guide my hand,” she said, voice low and husky with desire. “The way you like it.”

His fingers pressed against the back of her hand and then curled around her until their fingers laced together and he began to set a rhythm, drawing her to tighten more snugly around him and twist just so along the head. The slick sound of it grew loud in the room, joining Maggie’s breathy moans.

“Good at-- _uh_ \-- multi-tasking, yeah?” she said, her hips shifting down to grind against his face. “He’s a musician. Very talented. Um. Tongue.”

“I know that he’s a-- We’ve travelled together for years,” said Yennefer.

Which though she’d never previously thought of it in such a way, that truly was the best way to describe their strange family arrangement. Geralt and Jaskier travelling together, Yennefer or Ciri or both meeting up with them from time to time and staying with them for a month or so at a stretch before splitting off in their own directions. None of them put any kind of name to it.

She especially hadn’t put any name to the tentative friendship she had established over the years with bard. Though she certainly had never imagined she would want _this_ with him. Even though she knew the Witcher was fucking him, same as he was fucking her. Perhaps even more regularly than he was fucking her. 

She had thought, until the present situation, that the extent of what they were to each other would always be opposite prongs of something that centered around Geralt and around his Child Surprise. Never imagined herself here kneeling above the bard, watching their hands pump together on his erection. His thighs were slightly spread beneath her, a quiver running along them every so often, and looking down, she could see that the fine dusting of hair continued to thicken as it swept down behind his balls to the round of his cheeks.

She could easily heft up one of his legs and shift him up enough to see more of him, every vulnerable inch of him bared to her, and she knew he would let her, would barely clench a muscle to resist her scrutiny. With a shuffle to give her purchase, she gave in to the impulse, resting his calf against her hip and pinning it there under her elbow, and yes, her hunch was correct. No resistance, just a wiggle of his hips to further part his thighs and adjust himself.

Yennefer rested her hand on his inner thigh, dipping lower. She felt the velvet give of the skin where his thigh met the crook of his pelvis and was overcome with an overwhelming desire to _taste_.

“What’s got you all flustered?” asked Maggie, looking back over her shoulder, and Yennefer startled enough that her hand slipped to brush the puckered skin, and the tendon in Jaskier's thighs jumped, hips stuttering up into their shared hold.

“Don’t you dare come,” she ordered, sharper than she intended, and Jaskier stilled his hips and the movement of their hands.

Maggie took that moment to be swept away by her own pleasure, head falling back on a rising groan, and her clenching thighs and buttocks drew her briefly off of Jaskier’s mouth.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasped, and the wrecked squeak of his voice did something alarming to Yennefer’s own composure. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. _Yen_ , would you--”

She didn’t get to hear what he would like her to do as Maggie collapsed back down on him, her continued whimpering making it clear he had resumed the work of his tongue.

But she could make an inference as to his mostly likely request. Given the present circumstances.

She could hitch his broad thigh up further and press her magic-slicked fingers against him. She could quirk them inside one at a time, imagine she had been born with a stiff cock at her disposal rather than her own cunt. She could tease him open like that, an act he was surely no stranger to, not after having spent so many years tumbling into bed with Geralt.

Or.

She could give into the impulse that had surprised her earlier. To taste.

Yennefer was moving down before she had fully processed the thought, allowing his leg to fall over her shoulder, and she pressed a kiss to the blue-veined skin of his thigh. He smelled of musk and sweat and heat, and the first tentative flick of her tongue against him drove his heel hard into the line of her back.

His hand leapt to touch the side of her head, and she thought at first he would pull her back, push her away, but instead he intertwined his fingers into her dark waves of hair as though simply needing something to hold onto.

She took that as permission enough to lick a wet stripe up the cleft of his ass. He tasted like nothing more than sweat and skin, but it was the trembling jumps of his thighs that drove her to press her tongue more firmly in a broad stroke against him. Then, to breathe a long gust of breath where her mouth had wet.

He all but _writhed_ , and she twitched her hand tight around the base of his cock to keep him from getting any ideas. She knew, with a gentle prod of her mind against his that was just enough to read his level of arousal, that he was close. It would not take much.

She intended, of course, to keep him there at the precipice as long as he could stand.

She pressed her face against the warm downy hair along his leg, kissing him almost tenderly, and then, returned with small licks along the crease on his thigh, nose bumping against his balls, and tongue sweeping back to lick him open one press of her tongue at a time.

Yennefer guessed, if not for the woman whose thighs bracketed his face, that the noises rising from Jaskier would be very interesting indeed, what with the constant tensing and jumping of his thigh muscles and the insistent pressure of his heel against her back, the squirming rolls of his hips.

Her hand teased up against the length of his neglected cock, not enough to offer any real friction, and when she swept her palm along the head and then again, he tried to wriggle away from the sensation but found nowhere to go, trapped between her mouth and her hand and the innkeeper’s wife above him.

Yennefer felt the spike of his impending orgasm as her mind brushed against his, and she withdrew from him, hot breath against the damp crook of his thigh, holding him by the base of his cock until the urgency quieted again.

She drew a slow, firm hand from the base to the tip to feel that swell of arousal threaten to peak again and removed her hand at once. Did so again, slow drag up his length, a teasing twist at the head, and then away. His fingers clenched in her hair almost tightly enough to hurt, and she released his dick entirely to draw her tongue along his rim and lick a probing swipe _in_.

As Maggie began to shiver and moan through another surge of pleasure, Yennefer met the woman’s eyes as she looked back over her shoulder.

“Off,” said Yennefer, drawing away just enough to speak and felt the shiver that ran through him in response. “I want to hear him.”

The woman nodded and with a last roll of her hips as her orgasm faded, toppled off of him onto the mattress, sated and fatigued.

Yennefer was not wrong about the noises he made.

Though her imagination had not been appreciative enough of how _wanton_ he could sound, his voice pitched high and breath stilted to gasps. His mouth and chin were slicked wet from his previous activities, his eyes stuck between rolling back in his head and trying to look down at her between his legs. Every time he lifted his head to look and focused on her, he groaned and let his head thump back again.

“Gods fucking damn it,” he groaned. “You are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up,” she said,

“If I had know you were like _this_ in bed, oh fuck, I would have jumped you a dozen years ago. God, you could have been eating my ass for _decades_.”

“Jaskier,” said Yen carefully, lips against his thigh. “Don’t make me fucking regret wanting to hear you.”

“Right, right, but gods, your mouth. Your tongue. I could write sonnets about it. I just might. I just might right this instant. The second after I come, I definitely will-- oh _gods_ , Yen, I need to--”

“It’s too late. I already regret it,” she said but swept her tongue along him again anyway and then pressed a kiss to the velvety skin just behind his balls. He was so soft here, so vulnerable. “You must trust me more than you let on.” She spared a glance at the innkeeper’s wife but found her gone boneless, half dozing. Not paying attention to any heartfelt truths that may escape in the thrall of pleasure.

“I do,” he gasped as she nosed up along his balls, pressed an echoing kiss to the base of his cock, coarse hair tickling her chin. “I do trust you, I-- of course I do.”

“Do you trust me to let you come?” she said, the words mouthed against the taut skin of his erection, and he groaned with a full body shiver.

“Gods, Yen, yeah, yes,” he gasped.

“You can,” she said, pushing his thigh from her shoulder to rise above him. She slung a leg over his waist, pleased with the way he looked reverently up at her in blatant adoration, and leaned forward to kiss him. Just enough that he could taste himself on her lips, so she could taste the innkeeper’s wife. “You can come,” she said against his mouth. “Soon as I do.”

And she leaned back and shuffled up to guide his cock between her legs. She had given little direct thought to her own arousal but found herself more wet and slick than she had been in a good long while without a single touch and quivered at the sensation of the head of his erection bumping against her swollen skin.

She pressed him flat against his belly with her body weight, slicking a long drag of her clit along the hard length of him, and he made an undignified noise that was half yelp and half squawk. She could come just hearing and seeing how he responded to her. She wouldn’t last long at all.

But by his own overwhelming swell of arousal that reached her, neither would he.

Yennefer drew herself straight above him, gripped him to guide her to her opening, and pressed in a slow ache down.

“Go on, then,” she said, stilling as she held herself above him, not yet fully settled to the base as she knew to sink further would easily draw him over the edge. “Me first.”

Jaskier did not hurry to thrust up into her but instead ( _smart boy_ ) sought the folds between her legs with clever fingers that circled and teased. More quickly piecing together the touches she liked best than Yennefer thought possible, soon setting a rhythm so similar to the pressure and feel of her own hand that she found the build of her orgasm in an embarrassingly short length of time. The heat throbbed between her legs and crested on a wave that flirted on the edge of painful, and she clenched her thighs and dropped to press him deep inside her as the ache continued to pulsate in her groin.

She tensed to draw herself up and sink back down once, twice, and brushed against his thoughts to feel him hover on the precipice of orgasm, stilled her hips to stave it off just a breath longer. Heard him curse under his breath, nearly a whimper, and finally had mercy on him and rolled her pelvis against him in a rhythm that rose and fell and allowed him to spill into completion.

His hips snapped against her, and he started up a chant of _Yen, yen, yen, yen_ as she felt him tense and draw himself deep to finish in warm pulses inside her.

And that, of course, was when the door burst inward, ushering in a haggard-looking Geralt who appeared utterly unsurprised by the sight that greeted him. And the red-faced innkeeper. Who took one look at his sated wife sprawled in the bed and the couple locked together and immediately leapt to hollering extremely choice and colorful insults.

“I can’t leave you two alone for _two fucking days_ ,” shouted Geralt as he ducked enraged blows from the innkeeper while Jaskier and Yennefer fumbled their clothes on and hastily threw together their belongings.

“Nothing for it,” said Yennefer, struggling to catch her breath. Jaskier gave a brief wave to the dazed woman still lying in the bed.

“After you,” said Jaskier as he peered down at the cobblestone street below, reaching his hand out to clasp with hers.

The pair ducked together for an off-kilter kiss and then turned to leap from the window, the innkeeper’s furious shouting and Geralt’s curse-laden apologies tumbling out after them.


End file.
